


Barriers

by Ethdelethe (HiraKiaShi), HiraKiaShi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimivain Big Bang (Fire Emblem), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Permanent Injury, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29872086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiraKiaShi/pseuds/Ethdelethe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiraKiaShi/pseuds/HiraKiaShi
Summary: Sylvain Gautier was a failed knight to Prince Dimitri of Fergus. No more than a playboy fool who couldn’t aid his lord when it was needed most.For five years, he carried the regret of never truly getting through to Dimitri in their youth.It’s five years later, and Sylvain now watches the Fallen prince slowly regain the patience of the King everyone believed Dimitri would become. He had changed, and so had Sylvain.  Sylvain will lay his life down for Dimitri a million times over if it meant erasing the past where he didn’t. But as he continues to fight with recklessness and little care for himself, the more frustrated Dimitri grows with him.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	1. In the Night ; In the Chest

**Author's Note:**

> This was created for Dimivain Big Bang 2021! Please be sure to check out the other works [Here!](https://twitter.com/dimivainbbang)!  
> This is my first ever collaboration in anything and it was so much fun working on it! Thank you again to Nessie who did the absolutely GORGEOUS artwork for this!

Since their long-awaited return to Garreg Mach Monastery a few months ago, it was difficult settling back into what was their new base of operations. It was hard to see what was their second home had become nothing more than an abandoned church in shambles. Despite many members returning, and travelers staying, it still felt dead. Byleth wandered about like a ghost, anywhere and everywhere all at once. Most believed them to be dead, a ghost wandering about the halls of their lost students... They thought the same for Dimitri as well, but while Byleth was a lost soul haunting, Dimitri was a broken man being haunted. 

Regardless of pitiful rumors, it was odd seeing them alive. 

It was a great relief, but after five years of coming to terms with their deaths, only for them to be alive and (mostly) well, it was quite a bit to take in. Like a slow-motioned whiplash. For Sylvain, it certainly felt so. Seeing his old friend, no more than a feral husk that did nothing more than sulk in the church for weeks on end, then go about wiping out tens of hundreds of enemies. It was a lot for the young man to take in. But the others seemed to accept it with open arms. As if he was always like that. Except for Felix, of course, but it was to be expected. The Boy Who Called Boar was right all along. 

“He was no more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing then, at least now he doesn’t hide the truth.” 

He had shot down Sylvain’s pleas to have him help reason with Dimitri. To bring their friend back to a shred of sanity. Sylvain was no more than an annoyance to Dimitri back when they were younger. How could he even hope to bring him back to a reasonable state of mind when even Byleth couldn’t? But while he fruitlessly tried, Felix only scoffed and turned his head at what used to call him a friend. 

Still, as the afternoon bled into night, Sylvain didn’t give up. He went without the support of Felix or Ingrid. He was no more a nuisance to Dimitri five years ago, but he would rather fruitlessly try than not at all. 

There was nobody in the Church now, candles the only thing providing illumination. Their tiny lights casting long shadows that danced delicately and towered high to the ceiling. Normally, the moon would shine upon the altar, giving it an ethereal glow. Now, it only cast shadows upon a pile of rubble that was slowly dwindling as the others began working at clearing the debris. Dimitri still stood over the altar ruins with his shoulders hunched as usual. Staring at the bottom of the rubble, as if staring at it long enough would make the rubble cower and disappear as everyone else did. 

Whenever he was angry, or in any sort of foul disposition, he would wander about, intimidating every person that approached him or came too close. But now, he stood still. Tranquil and mostly obliging, only speaking to those to approach him and the ghosts that haunted his mind. Never leaving his spot other than for occasional meetings and battle. He never seemed to sleep, unless he slept standing up.

Sylvain really couldn’t see Dimitri doing that, but things change in half a decade. Dimitri has changed drastically over the times and picked up many things Sylvain would never have imagined him doing. 

The church was quiet and gave a level of solitude that made Sylvain’s shoulders dip down and relax. A quiet prayer escaping his lips as his eyes went heavenward, basking in the sacred sanctuary. Dimitri’s voice soon echoed along with it, the scratchiness from lack of use and mostly yelling bouncing off the walls. It made Sylvain flinch, the serenity of it all dissipating. 

“What do you want?”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, Dima,” He smiled with a lighthearted tone to mask the fact of how nervous he was. He forced his hands to his sides, stopping himself from the nervous tick of rubbing at his neck. “I didn’t need anything, just enjoying the atmosphere.”

Dimitri looked over his shoulder at him, his single eye glaring at him coldly. It hurt, seeing hardly any recognition from Dimitri. He could very well be another soldier. Just another pawn in the chessboard, expendable in the greater scheme of things. 

“Do as you wish,” he grumbled, hardly loud enough to hear. The echo the only reason Sylvain heard him. 

“Oh?” He walked up beside Dimitri, “could we talk then?”

No response, but Dimitri didn’t step away from him or say no. Sylvain was the one to hesitate, maybe he should just leave him be. Go back to his dorms and let the guilt of how bad a companion he is before falling asleep. He failed Dimitri as a knight, he had no right to stand here now and play friendly. 

Still, he bit the fear down, ignored the doubt and the hundreds of scenarios where this could go wrong in his head. He did that enough in the past few months being here. A habit that picked up after hearing of Dimitri’s execution. All the choices he had made led up to Dimitri’s death. 

But he had to at least try. Dimitri wasn’t doing any better even with Byleth’s gentle guidance. He could try now. Off all the times before when he didn’t, he could try now. 

“How long have you been here? It’s been five years since I last saw you..” 

_Alive? Normal? Sane?_ What was he supposed to say here?

Dimitri didn’t respond, though his shoulders hunched slightly before resting, a stiff shrug hardly noticed. But now, Sylvain’s words spilled out even without the reciprocation. Sentiment and fear bubbling over his mind and spilling out on his tongue. He was embarrassed to recall it all. The pain at losing Dimitri, of his complications at House Gautier. His regrets for not coming to Fhirdiad sooner. Being put into a war he hardly felt ready for. 

He pays little mind to how Dimitri was hardly more than a brick wall as he rambled on. But soon he runs out of things to recall, things to say. He takes a deep breath. Beating around the bush for too long. 

“I wish I’d have known... I would’ve come sooner. I wish I looked-“

“You would have been looking for nothing more than a dead boy, ” was the sharp response. He was annoyed, his reply interrupting Sylvain with clipped words. 

“Well,” he stammered, “That’s not true. You’re here.”

Dimitri wouldn’t respond, reverting to his brooding silence. He wasn’t sure if it was a cue to continue or to shut up, so he went with the former. 

“I just wish that-” he hesitated, “That Dimitri didn’t suffer alone. I should have been there.” _Protecting you. Like I was supposed to._

Dimitri looked to Sylvain once more, eyes no longer glowering. Though that felt worse because he was unreadable. His mouth twitched as if he wanted to say something. Something more than what he would whisper and bark to dead ghosts. Something on the tip of his tongue, a breakthrough just out of reach.

It would have been smart to take this moment now. To finally breach that wall Dimitri had built up so meticulously. To finally break it down into something tangible. The right words and Dimitri would finally come back to them. Sylvain wished to bring him back. If he couldn’t save him then, maybe he could now. 

But he was an idiot and a coward, Sylvain did not feel like his words could be the right ones to hear. He was no more than a nuisance to Dimitri back in their school days. What could he possibly say now as a failed knight to the to-be king? So, Sylvain smiled, hoping it seemed kind and less strained. He held a fist to his chest, bowing low as if he were no more than a knight. He was no more than a knight. 

“I may have failed him then, I hope to fulfill my role better to you now with the experiences I have gained over the five years.”

Dimitri turned to him then, no longer facing away and only looking over his shoulder, but now faced him as he straightened. But whatever courage Sylvain had mustered to even approach Dimitri was long gone. And with a hurried “Goodnight,” he left. That cold gaze following him well beyond the altar, beyond the dorms, in his dreams.

*****

The next time they would interact would be less fortunate, but it was all the same, a blessing to Sylvain.

The cot in the healer’s tent was far from comfortable. No more than woven twine tied along two metal bars. His armor felt heavy and was tarnished. He could hardly breathe. Nothing more than soft inhales and smaller exhales, the wound on his chest preventing him from doing much else. His breastplate was removed due to the blow forcing it to cave in on his chest, but everything felt sharp and painful still. As if the armor was still digging its way into his flesh with sharp edges and crushing weight. He wasn’t sure about how many important bones were directly in the center of his chest, but he was certain that they were all were either broken or shattered. His heart pounded, adrenaline yelling at him to move despite the pain, to go back out and keep fighting, but he was forced to stay in one spot. 

Felix kneeled over him with his hands pressed over the wound that was in the center of his chest. They pressed gently, but it still was excruciating to feel. Blood covered hands and heavily bruised tissue the most that Sylvain could see, and he forced himself to look away. He looked torn open. How he was breathing was beyond him. Felix would loudly remind him when to inhale, but if it wasn’t for that, he wondered if he would forget. 

“What the hell were you thinking?! Running into a spell like that-” 

Sylvain gave a weak groan in response, sounding more like a dying wheeze to himself. He knew Thoron spells were not to be messed with. A concentrated electric bolt that would be let loose with the force of a taught slingshot. The damage it was able to cause was terrifying. The ability to fry the nervous system of an individual, or bend the strongest metal beyond repair. Even casters of the spell could take damage if they were not careful enough. Sylvain knew from his training with Felix,

but he still shoved Dimitri out of the way. 

At least, that’s all he could remember. Almost everything was a faded blur except the few moments before everything went black. He remembers leaping off his horse to push his commander out of the mage’s range. Dimitri was battered and bloody, and none could keep up with his rampage as he stormed the fortress almost single-handedly. Sylvain barely keeping up on horseback, picking off the bigger threats before Dimitri would come too close to them or finish them off. But neither he nor Dimitri could keep the same pace for long, and there was no surprise when that mage rounded the corner, the familiar glow of a deadly spell surrounding their hands. Sylvain didn’t have many options, not with most of their party farther back. 

And since most of them ended with Dimitri hurt, he took the one where he wouldn’t be.

Sylvain tried to move, his blood still rushing to run or fight or something, but everything felt heavy. He raised his hand to gently push at the hands pressing to his chest, shoving him away weaky to try and at least sit up. The Mortal Savant was more annoyed than he thought, and Felix shoved him back down with an angry and frustrated curse. Hand shoving directly on his throat to avoid the chest. Sylvain let out a strained yelp.

“Damnit, Sylvain! Stay down or I’ll do it again!” He threatened, but he heard the warble in Felix’s words. He was scared. The knight didn’t dare to get back up after that. 

Shortly after what felt like hours (but was only minutes) of his flesh being pulled back together, consciousness became harder and harder to hold on to, his vision blurring at the edges. He heard Felix shouting at him, nothing new, distantly. Something about breathing. To keep his eyes open. They were heavy. 

Beyond him, he could hear the roar of what sounded like a beast coming closer. Had a demonic beast broken through their formation? Or was it from farther within the fortress... But he could hear it shouting something. English surely, but he couldn’t understand. He could hardly understand Felix. The dull white noise that filled his head became louder, more comforting. 

That same voice bellowed again, now in the tent. Were they still in the fortress? 

**“Where is he?!”**

Now loud and clear, giving Sylvain a moment of clarity to look over and up at a towering figure looking over him. White armor is stained red, and his cape is torn and tattered behind him. Areadbhar gripped firmly in one hand, as bloodied as the rest of him. The menacing glare softened into pain and relief when Sylvain met cold blue eyes. 

The last conscious thought that he remembers having is _oh, that’s Dimitri._ Relief washed over him and closed his eyes, finally able to listen to Felix and be still. And that same voice bellowing commands in the tent. Dimitri was here now, Dimitri was alright. 

_*****_

He would wake up again much later. Blurry darkness slowly bleeding into something more visible. He felt for his chest, half expecting it to be gutted and open still, but felt nothing more than mostly dry bandages. It ached but was more uncomfortably numb than anything. 

Sylvain can only imagine how the scarring will look. Felix was a good healer but he couldn’t mend things as flawlessly as Mercedes. But even then: He hadn’t heard of anyone surviving a Thoron attack. Not directly to the chest like he did. He rested his hand along his chest and simply breathed- which was an effort in itself, and prayed that he wasn’t in some sort of limbo. Slowly, hesitantly, he took in his surroundings. 

The Moon was distant and light slowly began to fluster the oncoming sunrise. The bed was much softer compared to the cot beneath him before. Scarce few candles were lit, but the room was familiar. Another bed lined beside him, and odd potions and books lining the bookshelves and tables. 

Manuela’s old infirmary. Though The Songstress had not returned in some time. Mercedes had taken up most of the responsibilities as Manuela would’ve had, if not more. Becoming the head healer of the army, and commanding most magical units and priest-like battalions. Sylvain wasn’t necessarily a fan of Manuela, Finding her in late hours drinking over some man that she couldn’t remember the name of. Mercedes was a good replacement for her, though it felt morbid to admit to even himself. 

He looked about the room and found another person sitting beside the bed in one of the old wooden chairs. Large in stature and incredibly close. Large shoulders with a cape draped over them to look like a bear. It startled him at first, he thought he was alone up to this point. And he may have flinched away from its large hand touching his hip if he didn’t feel so heavy and sluggish. But its familiar head rested on a still armored forearm on the bed, matted locks of hair tousled in all different directions and draping over his face. The slow rise and fall of his shoulders showed he was sleeping. Or, at least in a sleep-like state. 

There were many reasons why Sylvain felt a bit dumbfounded. Dimitri, up to this point, never seemed to sleep. This isn’t to say that he didn’t, but none knew _where_ exactly he slept. It’s not like he returned to his old room, despite Sylvain taking the time to make it livable again. The door to it remained open, never shut, bed always neatly made. Most assumed the Prince simply curled into a corner or over whatever desk he would be writing at. Some said they caught him asleep standing up. And with the rumors of “Boar Prince” still circling the entirety of Fodlan, 

He looked so peaceful then, maybe he didn’t sleep. And this was one of the rare occasions he had allowed himself to do so. 

Sylvain winced as his chest suddenly ached, having sat up too far for too quickly and for too long. The numbness fading from his chest into sharp stings that forced him to take in short breaths. Anything bigger felt like a knife to his chest. He had to close his eyes and force his body to calm down. Dimitri slept peacefully at his side, and he didn’t want to wake the slumbering prince. To be greeted with what could be at worst irritability and disgruntlement. 

He tried to match his breaths with Dimitri’s. Following the slow rising and falling shoulders with each long exhale and huffed exhale. Focusing on the quiet sounds of breath he made. The Feral Prince was peaceful. No furrowed brow, no permanent sneer. His eyepatch was even missing, Sylvain noted, but his hair was just placed so that his damaged eye was still hidden.

Sylvain smiled, the sharp pain in his chest still aching as he tried to take in deeper breaths. Dimitri was peaceful with him. Gods, how he missed just seeing Dimitri rest. There was a time where he never thought he would see him again. That Dimitri would fade into distant memories. No more than someone mentioned in passing like Glenn seemed to be. He couldn’t bear the idea, but he was forced to go on for years thinking he would never see Dimitri again. Seeing him resting, not arguing with Gilbert or Byleth, or brooding in some corner. Not battling with ravaging abandon and merciless ire. 

He hoped the moment would last for some time. But he couldn’t stop himself from imagining reaching out to touch that hair, to pull it aside and see how much Dimitri changed in time, or to see just how cold his cheeks were compared to his sweating palms. But he wouldn't have a chance to wake Dimitri. To have him storm off in a flurry of anger and flustering. Breaking whatever peaceful spell that washed over them both at this moment, and leaving him alone. 

His body seemed to be against his reasoning, as a deeper breath quickly felt sharp and painful once more. His slow and steady routine was cut short, and he felt like his chest was about to burst. Each strained breath felt as if the spell was still within him, constricting against his lungs tighter and tighter. 

He went to sit up again, like the stubborn fool he was. But if he could just sit up, maybe he could have better control of his breaths. Another short pained gasp came unwillingly from his throat, pressing his hands to his chest as he tried to calm his breathing once more. But it felt worse than before. 

Dimitri stirred at the sudden movement from the redhead before looking to Sylvain immediately. He grabbed at the redhead’s shoulder and urged him back down to the bed with hardly any effort. Like pushing a drunken man to the ground. Sylvain hoped he wasn’t that weak, Dimitri was always stronger than he seemed. But if he was so weak to not even be able to resist...

“Lie down, You shouldn’t be moving with such a wound.”

Sylvain wanted to protest. To argue that he was fine. Before he could, a solid and warm hand pressed against his chest. Familiar healing magic washed over him and he could breathe properly once more. Though the rattling in his inhales was still present, he sighed in relief. Goddess, breathing was something they took for granted far too often.

Dimitri rose from leaning over the weak soldier, and Sylvain bit down whatever pride he had, ignoring the raw feeling in his lungs as he called out for Dimitri to stay. Pitifully, all that came out what a weak groan. But Dimitri only went to the table, picking up a glass of what was likely water. Dimitri came back to the bedside, holding it up to Sylvain who only shook his head. 

“I’m sorry enough as is. Don’t you think?” He asked, though his voice sounded so unfamiliar on his tongue. 

Dimitri didn’t argue, but he sat back on the chair and stared intently at Sylvain. That same look from before in the church graced his face. This time, he spoke.

“Don’t be so prideful,” He half argued, then, “You shouldn’t have done what you did.”

“To be honest with you, everything’s kinda blurry before getting hit by that Thoron.”

“You tried to block an attack directed to me.”

Ah, right. Memories he would rather have had muddled beginning to return to his mind slowly. 

“You nearly died,” Dimitri muttered, “You almost died from my foolishness.”

“It wasn’t foolishness, it was the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing you could do.”

Dimitri looked down at him, pain across his face as if he were the one on his deathbed. 

“Regardless, I plan to be more cautious of my allies around me. Thank you,” He said, “You saved my life.”

“It’s what knights like me are here for, right?”

He smiled, and Dimitri gave the slightest smile back. Though troubling thoughts still plagued the prince’s mind. He rested his hand back on Sylvain’s chest, and he would deny that his heart skipped at the gesture.

“You are much more valuable than a knight to me. Now, go back to sleep, it will be a long time of recovery. Professor will have my head if she knows I let you stay awake.”

“Will you stay?”

Dimitri nodded, 

“For now. I’ll be here until Mercedes returns. Then, I’ll have to meet with Byleth and Seteth for our next move.”

Ah, 

“I see. Have they mentioned how long? Until my recovery.”

“No, not yet. Not when no man has survived such a strike. You seem fine, though Mercedes may wish for you to take it easy for a while.”

“And a while could be a few days to a month with her..” Sylvain halfheartedly groaned. 

“That is for her to decide. Listening to her will lend for a faster recovery. So please don’t make it harder on her or yourself.”

Sylvain thought of having to be in this room for more than a few days. There was nothing to do, and with the talk of their next move being planned out, there was a chance that their next move would be going north... Himself being left behind to at most guard the Monastery. Which was important, but Sylvain wanted to be there when Dimitri reclaimed his homeland... 

He looked to the ceiling, bland and old. He listened as Dimitri settled back into the chair, his arm not grazing against Sylvain’s flank again. Instead, he leaned against the chair with his arms crossed and his brow now furrowed. Eventually, he would fall asleep, his shoulders raised and stiff. Hardly even looking to be asleep, but when Sylvain looked closely, his breathing was slow, and his chest expanded under his crossed arms slowly. Maybe it was just meditation...

Sylvain watched him as he rested, a deep pain settling in his chest that had nothing to do with Thoron. An empathetic and guilty conscious now settling into his thoughts. No more peaceful sleep, not when there were so many other things the prince had his mind on.

*****

The training grounds sent a sense of nostalgia every time he came to it. Kicked up and patted down dirt that has been there for longer than he was probably born. Pillars nicked and cracked from thrown weapons and poorly choreographed spells. The whole arena was empty. The many soldiers and knights all trained here at all hours of the day. Fighting and sparring until the sun would set and their limbs were sore. But in the middle of the night, with the preparations for the upcoming March northwards, it was empty. Which was a relief, Sylvain needed the open space. To get out of the stuffy infirmary.

A cool breeze runs through the arena, between the corridors and rustling the leaves. Sylvain takes a deep breath, raising his hands with fingers outspread and just feeling the fresh air. He’s been cooped up under Mercedes’ care for weeks. His injury was getting better but at the pace of a snail. He was able to move around freely, but there were occasions where His chest would seize up and he couldn’t breathe properly for long periods. The wound was healing slowly and would scab and peel like a nasty burn with more scars and scabs beneath. Mercedes was kind and patient but as the strained breathing still had yet to get better, she and he both grew concerned that it might never go away. 

But, despite her warnings, he refused to be left behind while Dimitri and his army travel northwards without him. He would rather be struck down once more than that happen. 

There were older training weapons along with the weapon rack. All left behind before the siege on Garreg Mach five years ago. Looters and bandits not even finding value in them. Some Sylvain could recognize from all those years ago, having trained with them in their academy days. Chunks of the wood missing from his careless sparring. He picked one up, felt the weight of it in his hands, bouncing the rusted and dull lance from one hand to the other. It was pitiful and unbalanced and instead picked up the lance resting beside it. It was rusted as well, but still heavy and well balanced. 

  
  


He bounced on his heels a bit excitedly as he came to face a dummy. Feeling light and full of energy despite the very late hour. It may as well have been morning. 

It was a bit excessive, sneaking out from the infirmary down to the training grounds. But he was tired of staring at the same wall. Mercedes and Lysethia debating what to try next, if it was even curable. 

  
  


He walked to the front of the dummy. Nerves, and anxiety at a high and causing him to glance at any corner, expecting someone to be watching him, but was greeted with dark shadows and the wind. There was no one here. None to look at how far he had fallen. 

He took a deep breath, bringing his dominant hand to his chest, and exhaled with the embers that now danced along with his fingers. He gripped the lance with his other hand tightly.

“Just this,” he pleaded, “Just once.” 

Pitiful really, and Sylvain frowned deeply.

The dummy a dozen feet in front of him wasn’t damaged in the slightest. The rope across its chest fluttering was the only sign of a spell, and even that could be disregarded to being the wind. The redhead gave a small curse before turning back to the weapon rack and pacing back to the dummy. Gripping at the lance with both hands, and shaking his head in annoyance.

“I can go without magic. That’s fine. I can-“ 

“What are you doing here?” 

Sylvain squawked, leaping up and dropping the lance with a pitiful thud to the ground. He spun around with his hands up to face whoever the other individual was. Dimitri gave an indifferent stare, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

“Goddess damn me, Dimitri!” He wheezed and lowered his hands. He stared at his open palms awkwardly. What the hell was he thinking? Defending himself with magic he no longer had? He bent down and snatched up the lance.

“You really should announce yourself when someone thinks they’re alone!” He pointed the rusted tip at him accusingly. Dimitri only waved a hand at it, pushing it away from his face.

  
  


“The last I heard is that you’re still in recovery. And should be resting. What if your condition worsens while no one is around? Let’s get you back to the infirmary” 

Sylvain stammered and stepped back as Dimitri stepped forward. 

“Hey hey! Woah there a minute! Last I checked, I’m an adult.” He argued, “I don’t need to be babied. And don’t need to be escorted!”

Dimitri gave him the most put-off stare. 

“Just- look,” Sylvain pulled at his shirt, exposing the mostly healed part of it. 

“I’m cooped up in that room all day. I need to keep my senses alert if I plan to leave with you by the end of this week! I’m almost healed! The only thing truly stunted is my magic. And I’ll do just fine without it!”

-Probably. 

Ice blue eyes stared for a long moment. It was unnerving. He looked stern, almost like Byleth would be in a situation like this. Sylvain was being analyzed, and he felt exposed. Eventually, Dimitri sighed and grabbed a lance of his own. 

“Prove to me then.” 

“I- what.” 

  
  


Dimitri stalked to the grounds. His cloak coming to the ground and landing on the dirt. He turned, ankles twisting to get a solid ground, and lance raised in the offense. 

“Prove to me you’ll manage on your own.” 

Sylvain looked at the lance in his own hands, doubtful. 

“I can’t beat you. You know that.” 

“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to prove yourself to me.” 

Sylvain sighed, rubbing at his chest as he came to circle Dimitri’s stance. He doubts he could hold off any of the brutal blows from the blonde. But it was worth a shot. And he needed the training. If anything, Dimitri could carry him back to the infirmary. 

“Okay,” he gulped, “Deal.” 

He gripped the lace tightly and met eyes with Dimitri. Calm and collected blue eyes went to dark and merciless in one blink. He struck. 

*****

Sylvain desperately ignores the ache in his lungs as he deflects another blow. Chest heaving, and the ache becoming a continuous thrum within him. An electric shock in each inhale. Dimitri didn’t go easy on him. Which he was grateful for, but one side of him begs him to throw in the towel. Instead, he uses each thrumb of pain to strike harder, to focus better. The pain sparking adrenaline within him diving him forward.

Another hard swing and Sylvain twisted to Dimitri’s side to avoid it. The prince’s flank was open, and he grabbed his lance with both hands, and shoved it longways into Dimitri’s side, pushing him off balance and forcing him to pivot and defend. 

But Sylvain didn’t strike, instead, he stood there and heaved heavy breaths. Taking the opportunity to try and even his breathing. Each breath was ragged and torn. 

Dimitri stood defensively for a moment, before dropping his blade as Sylvain’s inhales failed to deepen. Coming closer with arms spread, waiting for Sylvain’s legs to fail him. The redhead was lightheaded and the adrenaline not being enough to keep him steady. He swayed from side to side but shook his head. 

“Sylvain-” He started. 

“I’m fine it’s just,” He began, leaning heavily on the training lance, “Just catching my breath. Give me a moment.” 

“No, I think we are done for now.” 

He shook his head sharply. 

“No! I’m fine really! I can-”

“Sylvain,” He growled, “We are done.” He had a harsh look over his face, most of it pulled back in a loose tie, and the patch still perfectly in place, despite the previous training. His own breaths were deep and slow, calm and steady, it made him envious. Sylvain tried to match it as he came closer. 

“You’ve pushed yourself too hard.”

He gave a glare to Dimitri, frustrated and annoyed at both himself for not keeping up and Dimitri for not giving him the time to. He took a step back as Dimitri came closer, the blonde pulling off the gauntlets and holding out his hand. 

“Let me ease the pain, Sylvain.”

He scoffed, feeling like a cornered animal. But allowed Dimitri to reach out, touching his chest and a small amount of magic coming from outstretched palm and into his chest. Cooling and relaxing as it washed over his torso. 

Healing spells always did more of numbing pain instead of healing wounds, and Sylvain slowly welcomed the sense of relief that now washed over him. The first unhinged breath always felt so freeing. Like getting something back that one took for granted and lost. 

His breathing became easier, and no longer strained and ragged, but he still felt a numb soreness. Unwittingly leaning against the hand and into Dimitri. The adrenaline and excitement of battle fading away and leaving him drained. One arm wrapped around him, hand resting at his lower back. The other still pressed against his chest, continuous magic coming forth to relieve a pain that was hardly there anymore. Still, Dimitri took his time with it, taking a longer time needed to relieve the pain. 

Sylvain wasn’t going to complain, He could feel the rise of Dimitri’s chest against his own, the pulse just along his neck, quick and fast. He had exerted himself as well, so it made sense his pulse would race alongside his own. He closed his eyes. Dimitri seemed fine with this, so he allowed himself to simply be handled at that moment... 

He used to be able to handle himself well enough alongside Dimitri. Not that he was ever able to down the larger male, even in their academy days when he was quite taller. He knew he should be proud of himself for still holding his own. How he was able to at least stun Dimitri. But in a real battle, enemy after enemy, and with no magic to push off the worst of them, he was hardly a shell of what he used to be. When did he become so reliant on magic?

  
  


“You did well,” Dimitri broke into his thoughts. Like he knew what Sylvain was thinking. The hand on his lower back stroking up gently. Sylvain flushed, Dimitri pulled away, held his hand out, and Sylvain gave him the lance. He was able to hold himself upright, but Dimitri still walked closely with him to the rack, hovering over him until he sat on the bench. He laid the lances across the rack gently. 

Sylvain stared at them for a long moment. 

“You did well. All things considering.” Dimitri picked up the cloak the red-head discarded before and handed it to Sylvain. He pulled it on halfheartedly as Dimitri went to get his own. He didn’t bother shaking the dust off. Simply wrap it around his shoulders and allowing the worst of the dust and dirt to shake off naturally.

“I’m getting better. I’ll be back to normal before we leave,” He said as he stood. Dimitri was going to escort him back to the infirmary, though it was not necessary. Still, it was nice being able to walk with Dimitri. With anyone. Mercedes and Marianne were both wonderful people. But walking outside, in the company of someone different, was a change from what had become mundane. And, it was Dimitri.

“We will see,” Dimitri said sternly as they left the grounds, “I won’t have you risking your life if you are not in the best of shape. I don’t want to lose you due to you not being in the best of shape.” 

Sylvain could argue that it didn’t matter. It became less and less likely that he would ever truly recover from this. Thoron’s strike gave his body a kind of trauma that his body wouldn’t overcome. But it didn’t matter. He fought for Dimitri’s protection above anything else. If he fell in battle, so long as Dimitri made it out alive is all that would matter. Holding his own was only important so he could push them as close to victory as he could.

He felt over his chest, where Dimitri has rested his hand to soothe the pain a just few nights prior.


	2. In the camp; In the Past

They meet back once again in solitude. The quiet of the world settling deep in everyone's shoulders as they journeyed northward.. 

They were marching to the kingdom for Dimitri to take back his throne. Determination and hope are the only things truly carrying them this far. Smaller camps of bandits and imperial soldiers blocked their way, but they were nothing in comparison to their numbers and their resolution. They were just beyond the border when they set up camp. Just several more days of travel before they reached the capital. Soldiers and commanders and friends buzzed about the campsite well into the night and ultimately settled in. It will be a long day tomorrow. No doubt that Empire soldiers would continue to try and hold them off. 

Sylvain settled at the edge of the campsite. Watching the tree line with weariness etched into his downturned lips. He was bored, keeping watch for enemies while most rested. His partner, Felix, had grown sick of his one-sided conversations and jokes. He stormed off after Sylvain poked fun at Felix’s painfully noticeable friendliness between him and Annette.

Poor Annette was surely doomed if Felix couldn’t handle his emotions properly around her. That or Sylvain should learn when to stop joking around. 

In his humble opinion, it was most definitely the former. 

The air was cold, and he could feel the cold breeze shift and caress around his armor, slipping between metal and chilling him once more. It made the wound on his chest burn slightly, but it was like a breath of fresh air. Nostalgia and a sense of coming home washing over him. He almost wishes to cast away the armor, to truly feel the biting cold against warm flesh. It wouldn’t be wise, and he was at risk enough in this cold as is. He could hear his mother lecturing in the back of his head at the thought.

Instead, he stared and watched how the dew on the grass began to crystalize. He absently rubbed at his chest beneath the armor, his arm crooked awkwardly to reach it. The wound was still bandaged and healing, but as far as everyone else knew, he had fully recovered. 

A ruse, truly, but Mercedes allowed it, partly because she knew he would’ve gone anyway. She had watched as he secretly packed his things late on the night before they left. Frightening him when he had turned to see her disappointed stare in the doorway. She had only given him some herbs and tonics to help with any discomfort and asked the Goddess to give him strength. 

Sylvain liked to believe that her prayers were answered and that he was holding fast to keeping his promise so far. Sure, he wasn’t as great as he had been in previous battles, but he was doing just fine. 

The soft crunching of frosted ground had him turn, thinking Felix had calmed down and decided to return until their shift ended. Instead, familiar blonde hair, cascaded over broad shoulders, and a patch that covered half his face. Dimitri looked as if he had rubbed his eyes aggressively, puffy and red. The bags under them were dark and apparent. He looked around, confused. 

“I was here to relieve the two of you. Where is Felix?”

He turned back to Sylvain, who shook his head. Dimitri looked like he hardly slept for an hour, and probably hadn’t slept since they had left the monastery a week ago now. 

“You can’t be serious. You look like the walking dead.”

The prince frowned in response but didn’t remark at the jab. Instead, he looked around once more. Looking for the irritable blunette. 

“He left a handful of minutes ago,” Sylvain sighed, “It’ll be fine. This is an expansive clearing. I can spot someone over a mile away. Go back to bed, I can handle this.”

“Sylvain, you shouldn’t be out here alone. Regardless of how much armor you may have donned. Why don’t you get some rest while I’m here?”

He blinked, Dimitri had completely disregarded what he said. Did he not hear him? Was he that tired?

“You’re hypocritical. You look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

“I am more than capable of handling any stray theif.”

“Wait-“ Sylvain interjected with a strained smile, “and you think I’m not?”

Sylvain had mulled over the many ways that he feels inadequate. How the Thoron to his chest had permanently stunted his ability to cast magic. It hurt to think about half the time. The failure of a mage he had become, and having to re-hone his skills to be a decent knight once more. Everyone thought he wouldn’t recover from the wound, and it pissed him off to no end hearing their concerned whispers and rumors. 

And hearing the implication from Dimitri himself. That hurt more, even if he didn’t mean such implications. 

Sure, it may have been true, it is not like he can actively hide how he swings his sword slower, and how The Lance of Ruin has become too heavy at times. How he was averaging in action and picking off the more pretentious enemies from outside the center of the battlefield. How his spellcasting is weaker and didn’t come to him as easily as it once did. But he was a better life spent during conflict for this. He was of no use at the Monastery. The least he can do is keep a lookout when it’s late. 

Dimitri winced. 

“You twist my words, Sylvain.”

Sylvain felt a hot wave of anger rush through him, from his head down to his spine, and buzzed at the nape of his neck. He held his tongue tightly, considering his next words. Yelling would only cause the campsite to awaken, and curses would only lead to more aggression. 

“Then deny it.” It came out as a bark, surprising himself as it did Dimitri. He didn’t back down. Prince or not, commander or best friend, Sylvain wouldn’t let himself be viewed as the weak link. No matter how true it may be, he shouldn’t be treated any different. Dimitri’s brow rose and he gave a frustrated grunt. His shoulders rose in a deep breath as he stared at Sylvain for a long moment. His shoulders hunched up and fists balled. He continued, since Dimitri’s tongue seemed to have lost him. 

“I’m going to stay at my post until sunrise,” He said slowly. “Forget taking over for now. You clearly need the rest more than me. Don’t argue with me.” 

Dimitri gave a long look, and Sylvain saw the frustration and hurt in his face. He knew he looked the same. But there would be no arguing over this. Not now. Then, Dimitri turned, shoulders sagged in defeat. 

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” He hesitated. Wanting to say more. There was more to be said, they both knew it. Sylvain knew his reaction was jarring, and Dimitri knew more than an apology was needed. 

But for now, it wasn’t the time. 

“Go get some rest.”

Dimitri left as he came, the crunching of frost beneath his feet once more, retracing his steps as he went back to his tent for the night. Part of Sylvain wanted him to stay, but the more stubborn part of him won out.

_________________

By the next day and throughout the afternoon, Sylvain didn’t say much to Dimitri. He was still frustrated and didn’t plan on settling their argument anytime soon, even though it ached to not be able to slide up to Dimitri as he normally would around others. He would scout ahead, report to him, but didn’t linger or banter as he normally would. Not as close or as much as he would at least. 

Dimitri always gave the most pitiful looks as he spoke, but there wasn’t much time or space to talk about it. It was cold, and they needed to keep moving. Sylvain migrated from caravan to caravan, checking in on them before scouting ahead once more. It was easier to not mull over their dispute if he was busy through most of the march. 

But, as they came to their next checkpoint. Another clearing about ten miles from the closest village, and a half-day away from the capital, he came to the assigned outpost and saw Dimitri there as well. Her back leaned against one of the wagon wheels, lance leaning beside him. When he looked over to Sylvain, his eyes perked up. Wide and blue. The slow moonlight illuminating them in the dark. 

Sylvain hesitated.

He wanted to leave now. To simply ignore Dimitri entirely for the rest of the campaign was easier said than done. It would be nice to ignore the pain in his chest whenever he looked at him and blame it on the cold. Dimitri had that same cape wrapped around him, surely warm, but probably not warm enough. But he seemed unfazed by it, and the knight could see the white and silver armor glistening beneath, matching perfectly with the snow, despite the many scuffs alongside it. Dimitri was born and raised here, as did Sylvain, but he never got used to the cold. 

He’d like to simply admit faults and move on. To stand by Dimitri and calmly explain himself. But his tongue was tied between pride and ego. But it was comforting to know that Dimitri seemed to feel the same way. His lingering stares and deep breaths throughout the day as if about to say something, but pausing and changing his mind. They both did it, each catching each other’s eyes but both deciding that they didn’t know how to articulate the entire problem. Both deciding later would be better than now, if later ever came. 

It would be easier to just walk away. But the thought of leaving his post, leaving Dimitri alone, and trying to sleep while the other stood guard alone in the cold. If anything, it would only prove the man’s point that he could handle himself alone. It would be admitting defeat, in a twisted way that Sylvain was probably thinking too hard with.

So, he sat down on one of the barrels of grain, beside the wagon, arms resting against his knee. Right beside Dimitri, both facing the treeline once more. He saw from the corner of his eye how he leaned over as if to touch him on the shoulder before straightening and leaning against the wooden wheel with a soft sigh. Dimitri crossed his arms, not knowing what to do with them. 

“Can we talk?” 

Sylvain just took in a slow, steady breath in response. They needed to. With the upcoming battle, it was best to not have any words left unsaid. Dimitri moved to sit beside Sylvain on an adjacent box. Holding the lance closely to him. Sylvain could see the white in his knuckles from how hard he gripped at it. He really should be wearing gloves. The tips of his fingers were red.

He was just at Sylvain’s height at this level. Face to face instead of the redhead having to look up to make eye contact. Dimitri wasn’t always a tall individual, but now he was as tall as he was menacing. They didn’t make eye contact now, however, Sylvain focused on the treeline. Looking out for anything suspicious, despite nothing lurking between those trunks since they came closer to the capital. For a while, Dimitri did the same, maybe building the courage to push at conversation. Thinking how to start it, if it should even be started by him in the first place. He looked at Dimitri from the corner of his eye whenever he felt the other was looking away. 

His hair was rustled and even longer since their reunion, but not as matted as it was. Loosely pulled back by a ribbon that looked that if he shook his head hard enough, it would come loose. Eyepatch still firmly in place, but his face was no longer obscured as much as it was before. If he looked close enough, He could see the slightest of dark pink that peeked just beneath the patch. Dimitri had yet to confirm or deny the many rumors around his injury, but the vast tales that came from it were entertaining enough. Sylvain could see the many story tale books all having their versions of what happened to the King of the North and why he lacked an eye. 

He let out a strained sigh, just as reluctant to break the peace as Dimitri was. 

Sylvain never answered his question. Mostly because he didn’t know how to even tackle the subject. Dimitri probably didn’t either, but at least he was trying. Which, in itself, he should at least meet halfway. But Dimitri beat him to it. 

“I’m sorry. The way I spoke wasn’t fair. You are more than capable of being out here. As is Felix. But I don’t want you to be ambushed or unable to get help. And,” He hesitated, stammering for the right words, “Mercedes told me about you not being fully recovered.” he paused. For a long while, debating his wording. Trying to not be insensitive. 

Sylvain stopped his absent-minded pressing against his chest then. The heavy armor he normally wore was replaced with leather. It was lighter and allowed him to move better. 

“Why did she tell you?”

He turned to Dimitri then, a guilty pout from his friend as they met eyes. 

“I... I felt you hadn’t enough time to heal, and didn’t believe when you said fully recovered. And I wanted Mercedes to tell me. She was hiding something. And I begged her to tell me. She worries for you too. But we are the only ones who know. But regardless of that, I shouldn’t have pried as I did. There’s no excuse… but I.. you’re-” 

Dimitri seemed to trip over his words. Stammering before starting and stopping once more. He groaned in annoyance, allowing the quiet to take over once more.

“Sylvain?”

A warm hand, despite the lack of gloves and the bitter cold, rested against his bicep. He thought about jumping up, running off then and there. He was most definitely reading the situation wrong. The hand is large against his flank. He could feel the freezing palm against the armor, the cold in it seeping into his skin. 

“You’re very valuable to me. And I care for you deeply. I just worried over something I wasn’t even supposed to know about... Mercedes didn’t want to tell me, I hope you won’t be frustrated with her, but I wouldn’t leave without the truth.” 

“I should have asked you myself. But I knew you would hide it. And you have been hiding it so well. But I couldn’t help but notice the smaller things. How you still do not use as much magic as before. I lose sight of you in battles more when before you were right by me… and.. ever since that Thoron I can’t help but think about how you looked. How damaged you looked. I was so scared I was losing you.” 

He wishes he didn’t have the armor on then. His chest-thumping and convulsing tightly within its confines had nothing to do with the magical damage to himself. Sylvain wished to feel Dimitri’s hand against his skin, on his own. It trembled against his arm, his own hands sitting uselessly on his lap.

“I’m sorry,” The hand left him, “Perhaps I am being too forward.” 

No, that isn’t the case at all. But the words wouldn’t leave his mouth now, as if petrified by some sort of nasty spell. Too forward? Even so, maybe it would be best if he left it as is. Dimitri would take to the throne at the end of their campaign, and their roles together now would grow more and more separated as time went on. There was no use to pander to these feelings...right?

He told himself the millions of reasons why it was best to leave it be, but he only watched as his hand moved slowly to Dimitri’s own, gently wrapping his still gloved fingers on the wrist and wrapping both his hands around the one large one. From blunt nails to scabbed knuckles was a red flush from the cold. He could feel the lack of warmth through his gloves. His heart pounded, and maybe he was a coward, but he couldn’t look at Dimitri’s face at this time. He simply stared at the hand, noting how Dimitri left it open and loose. Allowing him to hold it however he wished. 

When was the last time Sylvan had held hands? Or held anyone for that matter? Holding someone that was more than hands on the shoulders of allies, or dragging wounded comrades and friends off the battlefield? He muttered a small spell under his breath, his hands warming beneath his palms, and warming Dimitri’s own between them. He forced his breathing to stay steady, and as long as he kept it within his palms, He could at least do this.

“You should wear your gloves you know... And… You’re not. Being too forward I mean. Don’t think that I am against any of this. I’m just.,”  _ scared _ .

There was a small noise from Dimitri. A chuckle, a huff, likely a scoff. Maybe a moan at the comforting warmth that surely brought some feeling back into his hand. His wrist was still held tightly as he waited for Dimitri to pull away. To get bored or uncomfortable. But he stayed, even allowing his lance to drop carelessly to the ground to now grip at the heat source tightly with his other hand. 

“I must have forgotten to put them back on… though I don’t remember taking them off. Typical of me,” he hesitated, looking away for a moment, “is it really alright? This?”

The loose hold on his hands tightened. And he nodded, his voice escaping him. Where was his confidence at? They were acting like schoolchildren. 

“Yes,” he said, “yes,” again. 

Because it was all he could bring himself to say. Dimitri nodded. Smiling up at him with a faint look of relief. Blue eyes meeting brown. 

They stayed like that for the remainder of the night, watched the sky turn from pitch black into a faded gray before the sun would begin to rise. As Dimitri’s hands were far from cold, they still held tightly to Sylvain’s own, and Sylvain wished to discard his own. 

**_***********_ **

He didn’t know what he did to find himself in Dimitri’s old quarters. The Castle now back under the control it rightfully belonged to. It had been about a week since they stormed the capital. Dimitri still had yet to be crowned. And it all felt so odd. 

Sylvain hadn’t been here since before he had gone to the academy in their final year there. The war breaking out prevented him from having a reason to go back there. All of them retreating to their territories to plan their next move against the Empire. It was all a blur then, and he planned to ride to the capital to aid Dimitri. It took his mother begging on her knees to keep him at the Gautier residence until they heard back from Dimitri’s uncle or Dimitri himself. 

Then the announcement of his Uncle’s death came. Immediately after, Dimitri being on trial for regicide. Sylvain doesn’t remember what happened after that. It all went black from there, forced to run under the command of Cornelia for years. Until the anniversary came, and he fled the Kingdom in hopes that Dimitri or Byleth would return. If they didn’t, he wouldn’t be returning to the kingdom. Instead, he planned to go to the alliance, tell Claude all that he knew, and face whatever the Alliance leader saw fit. 

He shakes his head at those memories. Looking around Dimitri’s old bedroom instead. Remembering the happier times when they were younger, when Sylvain and his father would visit for diplomatic business, only for Sylvain to sneak off and find the bored prince to play. Hiding from his annoyed father as they ran about the castle, Dimitri showing him all of the secret passageways that they would have to crawl on their hands and knees to get through. 

The bedroom hardly changed in the years that he left. The bed was unmade, with long-settled dust within the wrinkles. The servants and maids not wanting to erase what was left of their king, despite the alleged accusations of him murdering his Uncle. Intricate paintings of gardens that the unforgiving soil would not sow. A large desk littered with books and papers. Dust heavily coated everything. The tables, chairs, even the logs within the fireplace that Sylvain poked at did as well. 

Would dust be a good firestarter? 

He felt a warm presence close behind him when he straightened from the fireplace. He didn’t flinch, despite not hearing the man enter. But there was no surprise that Dimitri would want to return to his childhood room. He looked about the room with his shoulders slouched and timid steps, almost like a child being scolded. He looked over to the doorway, ragged and ripped off one of the golden hinges so it hung awkwardly. Torn and scorched curtains. 

“I was so angry then..” He said quietly. 

“I think you had a right to be,” Sylvain noted, not sure what else to say. He wanted to reach out, but his arms hung uselessly at his side.

Dimitri gave a small nod before looking to the fireplace with a torn expression. As if remembering the last log he had laid across the pile was still there. Sylvain wonders if it would have been better to light it then, or if maybe it was a good memory to Dimitri. Sometimes you don’t meddle with the past, freezing it in time by leaving it untouched. 

He remembers how his mother locked up his brother’s room after Miklan ran away. How she cried when she found that his father had unlocked it and took away all of his things. Donating or selling or just plainly burning them. He was happy to forget the boy he barely raised, while his mother mourned him as if he was already dead. They wrote him off as dead when he ran away. Forgetting his name and taking down his paintings. Sylvain wouldn’t until long after he drove his spear into the beast’s heart. Until the death cry of his brother became a constant in his dreams. And even then, he liked to pretend that Miklan was just making trouble somewhere else, that he was still alive and (mostly) well. 

Dimitri said nothing about the old log, rather looking back at Sylvain and forcing a small smile. The excitement and relief in his eyes but unable to bring it into words,  _ I’m home _ . But there was still pain there. The way he held himself, hand poised over the hilt of his sword as if waiting for someone to round the corner with malicious intent. Dimitri may be home, but it became a prison for him. It became a nightmare. 

They slowly eased into one another’s presence. Dimitri, still high strung from the battle, and whatever was going on in his head was likely overwhelming. Dimitri was harder to approach than others. Nowhere near as welcoming and open as he used to be as a kid, less so five years ago. It took Sylvain time to both understand it and explain it to the others. But it wasn’t as if he was necessarily different in that regard. How many times did he put on a falsetto personality around others? Sneaking women and men alike in his dorms just to feel wanted?

Eventually, Dimitri reached out a hesitant hand. Patient and calm, even when before he would be brittle and distant at times like this. He still was, but Sylvain brought down barrier after barrier. He didn’t know-how. Maybe it was the patience that no one else had. The constant presence Sylvain was with him. When most shied away, or gave up altogether, he was still there. Awkward and one-sided conversations, and able to read Dimitri as well as he was able to before, though there were times when it was harder than before. 

But Sylvain changed as well, and Dimitri respected the odd dance that Sylvain seemed to have as they went along the relationship. How one moment it was fine to be indulgent in one another’s presence, and others it was better to talk plainly. It was still new, but it was as if settling into something old and familiar.

Like wearing something that was passed down from generation to generation. It was always meant for you, but you just weren’t ready for it. 

  
  


But they both still felt the strain. He felt how Dimitri leaned forward, waiting for him to meet halfway. They weren’t necessarily on the same page with everything, both still dealing with demons and a war that couldn’t wait for trauma to heal. But Sylvain liked to think they were at least on the same chapter with it all. 

Maybe, after the war- if he survived, Sylvain should talk to someone. How he can feel completely scared and enthralled by intimacy all at once. Sometimes it didn’t bother him, other times, it felt like he was being struck in the chest all over again. Heart-stopping then restarting, then not feeling it at all. Maybe he just needed a medical examination. Or more likely, both. And Dimitri too, because as much as Sylvain wishes he could wipe away every wrong that came across him, he knew that he alone wasn’t enough. 

But right now, Dimitri reached out. His hand extended slowly to grab at Sylvain’s elbow, pulling him away from the now small fire burning. Did he do that? Or did Dimitri do so as he raised his hand? He looked back at it a moment, partially embarrassed with himself that he hadn’t even noticed it being lit. The dust burning away but not spreading past its heart. Comfortable burning in one place. The hand from before now running up his wrist to his forearm, pulling him slowly away from the fireplace. He allowed it, being pulled closer to Dimitri, but not touching. 

“Are you alright, Sylvain?”

Sylvain scoffed.

Dimitri had finally overcome the worst of his demons, struck down Cornelia, and is claiming his right to the kingdom. Sylvain should be asking if he was alright. He wasn’t the one returning to the place that was probably a complicated mix of both good and terrible memories. How Dimitri was now expected to take the throne as king when he was only just coming out of the depths of his insanity. 

With his hand, he reached up, both stepping closer into each other’s personal space. Dimitri’s cheek cupped into his palm, and the larger man sunk into the touch, his shoulders sagged, and a tired sigh escaped the man that sounded more like a sob. The furrow in his brow finally leaves. He reached up in return, holding Sylvain’s hand there, his hand warm against his own. They took the moment to accept their situation, foreheads touching and taking in the presence of the other. Both were alive, both were breathing, and they were well enough to stand and hold each other. 

“I should be the one asking you that. You shouldered many things before. Now they expect you to shoulder a kingdom before even asking if you are ready.” 

He rubbed his thumb at his cheek as he talked. He remembered the terror in Dimitri’s eyes before waving at the citizens that remained in the capital. All cheering as he only started in fright, unable to see how their king truly feared his new position. 

“It’s... it’s fine. Really. As fine as it will be at this point at least. I... I am home. Although it doesn’t feel like this great, noble thing. I can only see what used to be. . and I am dwelling on the past more than I should be.”

“It’s not a bad thing to think about the past. If anything, let those experiences become guidelines for a better future. But right now, let’s not speculate everything that was and will be. It’s been a bothersome week, all this celebrating and such...” He looks over to the bed, covered in dust, “Why don’t we find somewhere to lay your head? Somewhere less dusty.”

Dimitri nodded but didn’t seem willing to pull away. Instead, he laid his head down on Sylvain’s shoulder. Which was hardly comfortable with his armor still in place, but was less dusty.

“I’m glad you’re here. It is easier.” 

“Me too,” Sylvain sighed, “I’m extremely glad to be here with you,” He whispered back. He could only imagine what or where he would have been if he stayed under Cornelia’s thumb... Would he have charged into battle? Against Dimitri and for the Empire? If he did- would he have been spared? Would he have fled?

He banished those thoughts, letting them haunt his consciousness some other time. Enjoying the mere presence and comforting atmosphere they had built between themselves. Together, they gravitated closer. It was easy to lean into Dimitri then. His face just a breath away from his own.

Sylvain was normally the one to make the first moves in the past, but Dimitri beat him to it. As always with these things here lately. Their roles from their more carefree days reversed. He felt a gentle hand caress at his chin, guiding his face upwards as his cheeks warmed and flushed red.

“Close your eyes,” Dimitri gave the quiet command, though it reminded him of a soft growl of a bear. His eyes fluttered shut, freeing all restraint within him and simply clinging to everything Dimitri told him... 

Chapped lips from the bitter cold met his own gently, rough and delicate all at once. Chaste and innocent but carrying so many promises in just a few fleeting seconds. Maybe Sylvain was romanticizing, but he felt he was allowed to at least a bit. 

Soon, they would be headed west back to the monastery, and then to the Alliance to help whatever Claude summoned them for. 


	3. Chapter 3

He watched from a distance. It’s all he could do now. He watched as the beast that was Edelgard morph back into something smaller and more familiar. More normal. It was jarring, in a sense. The beast they fought before felt more fitting as the great antagonist. The great obstacle in their way to regaining peace in their continent. 

But, in the end, she was still just as human as the rest of them. She was small and meek compared to the warlord she had come to be. Her name alone sent chills down even the bravest soldier’s spines. Dimitri told Sylvain about their meeting with her. How it didn’t go as he had hoped, but he had more resolve in what he needed to do. And even now, seeing Dimitri reach out his hand to Edelgard after years of torment and war. He was kinder than he should ever have to be. He admired it, but he knew it was fruitless.

Sylvain stood at the entryway to the throne, leaning heavily against the doorway. He held at the short sword Dimitri gave him earlier so tightly that his hand was numb. The Lance of Ruin shattered, and Dimitri gave him this before going to face his half-sister. He was tired, the pounding in his chest still loud and the ringing in his ears louder. He was one of the main forces in keeping soldiers from swarming around the throne room to protect their Emperor. 

But they all knew it was too late the moment Dimitri reached the staircase.

He looked ahead, watched as Dimitri reached out a hand. Sylvain knew what would happen next. Still, he flinched at Edelgard’s quick movement, barely even seeing the dagger leave her hand save for the flash of light in a split moment. He looked away. He didn’t know Edelgard well, but he bowed his head in respect. This was normally a time most would pray for her soul to be given mercy before the goddess. 

Sylvain didn’t have much sympathy. Not when she reigned terror and fear through all of Fódlan. She would become the nightmare that haunts everyone’s dreams. Her image being something that would bring up bad memories, her name and title becoming a cursed thing to utter. Even as years passed, and Fodlan would be healed, Sylvain knew she would still reign fear within the continent’s people. After years of fear and walking on eggshells around the empress, slowly, she would become nothing more than the monster in new fairy tales; the monster under children’s beds. 

When he looked back, Dimitri pulled  Areadbhar from her chest. Edelgard’s body slumped forward, and Dimitri pulled a small dagger from out of his chest. It clattered to the ground, and Byleth sheathed their sword and turned away. Dimitri followed with his head low, and hand over where the dagger plunged in. 

“Dima,” Sylvain said in a hushed tone. He bypassed Byleth and went straight to Dimitri. Grabbing his wrist right as the tired prince began to turn back to Edelgard. Second, guessing everything that led up to this moment.

“Dimitri,” He said, quieter. As if there were anyone there to hear, “Leave her be.”

“But I-”

Sylvain pulled him closer, away from the stained glass windows that cast the throne room in a melodramatic glow. He pulled Dimitri close, taking his head in his right hand and turning it to face him, away from what was left of her. He used what shred of magic he had to heal the other’s chest, where the dagger had sunk in. It wasn’t deep, nor did it hit anything vital. 

Sylvain stared at the wound with a slow realization. 

She could have gone for the heart, his throat, even his head. He felt a cold chill run down his spine at the thought. Maybe Edelgard wasn’t so evil. She carved the path that she knew was right. Maybe she knew Dimitri would attempt to spare her when she did not need sparing. She fought with her life, and Dimitri still tried to spare it. 

“Leave her be,” He whispered in between them. Holding shaking shoulders tightly and hushing the weak sobs. Dimitri held fast to Sylvain’s hand, like a lifeline. The redhead used his free one to reach up and bow Dimitri’s head on his shoulder.

“Let’s go check on everyone. They’re worried about you.” 

They pulled away, Sylvain’s hand still held a bit too tightly. He led them out of the throne room, leaving Edelgard in the faint light of day. Someone else should handle her corpse. Someone who knew her well, and wasn’t an enemy. A loved one or an ally, someone who cared for and walked with her. It would be better to be carried away by familiars than by your enemies. 

“You’re limping,” Sylvain noticed. Dimitri shrugged. 

“Stray arrow. I’ll be fine.” 

The strained walking said otherwise, but nothing much could be done about it now. Instead, he pulled at Dimitri’s left arm, pulling it around his shoulder, and helped carry some of his weight. Dimitri reluctantly took it, not arguing. 

Everything else was a blur. Once they came down the many steps and to the remainder of their army, and everyone saw that Dimitri was alright, it broke into incessant cheering and celebrating all around. Dimitri was pulled from him, and despite him wanting to hold on and not let go, there was no use arguing with an army filled with victory. 

“I’ll see you later,” he promised as Dimitri was pulled from him, taking  Areadbhar off his King’s hands and sheathing his borrowed short sword along his belt. But he paused to look at the sword now as the cheering soldiers and friends walked out of the blood-stained floors. 

It’s intricate. With a sheath decorated in light blues and striking reds, all laced around golden veins. 

It’s beautiful, but not so much so that it would be considered decorative, and it held well in battle. The blade is still sharp, despite Sylvain using it repeatedly in the last battle after his lance shattered in half. It would likely take months to find the proper materials to repair it, along with the other relics that were used in battle today. Hopefully, never be used again, but Sylvain wasn’t naive. 

When his own broke. Dimitri ran to him, casting a light healing spell and pulling Sylvain close, checking for injuries as an excuse in a tight embrace 

“Carve a future for us,” he rasped in Sylvain’s ear, right before shoving the sword and sheath in his hand, and running to the demonic monster Edelgard had become. Sylvain hadn’t the time to think about those words until now, Now, he wishes he didn’t let Dimitri leave with the rest of them.

Carve a future for us. Not ‘you’, not ‘me’. But ‘us.’

He wished to drag Dimitri away and have a moment alone with him. Just ‘us.’ 

He exited the palace, some stray soldiers remaining to find any remaining enemies to surrender. Healers staying behind to mend both allies and enemies from their worst wounds. He sees familiar faces that he does not meet eyes with. This was war, and it felt wrong to look at what once used to be friends when they were enemies for so long. Instead, at the entrance of the palace, Byleth stood with their arms crossed. Their hair was pulled back from their face, and they look more tired than anything. They turned once Sylvain approached, looking down where the short sword now was strapped on his hips. They recognize it from the way they stare at it but do not comment on it. 

“How do you fare?”

“As well as you can after a five-year-long war.” 

They huffed. 

“The first thing on everyone’s mind now is either drink, eat, or sleep. I am glad to see peace wash over the continent…”

“Dimitri has a bunch on his shoulders now.”

“As do you. Grand Archbishop.”

“Ha! I already miss the war. Maybe I will disappear and become a mercenary once more.”

“Wait a few months at least. Until he can get his footing.”

They nodded, though the smile along their lips seemed forced. They wouldn’t disappear. Even if they wanted to. Sylvain knew how Byleth was now trapped in being Archbishop now. With Rhea no longer able, it fell on them. And they couldn’t refuse. No matter how desperately they wished to run and follow the footsteps of their father, to live loose and without law. 

They never signed up for this. Even five years ago, they hadn’t the choice. 

Sylvain felt for them, and though he wishes Byleth happiness, Fodlan would fall apart if they left now. Dimitri relied on them as much as he did Sylvain, if not more. But Byleth took it in stride. They took everything with stride, and Sylvain hoped they would find peace and happiness at some point. 

  
  
  


Despite many of them wanting days’ worth of celebration and cheering, the weight and stress of war caught up with most of them. It wouldn’t be a day later that Sylvain sat in the Royal infirmary with Dimitri. The latter lying in the bed with his chest bandaged and leg wrapped that which made it nearly impossible for him to walk. Dimitri was like a cat in a tub of water. Wanting out of his confines, but unable to get out of his restraints. 

Said restraints only being Sylvain’s glare and Mercedes’ tight bandaging around his left leg. 

Soon, day bled into night, and Mercedes retired as Sylvain promised to keep an eye on Dimitri. They were still in the empire, but since the large infirmary had hit max capacity, they found an unoccupied guest room for Dimitri to rest. It was dark out, moonlight the only thing casting shadows within the room. 

Sylvain felt a sense of nostalgia from the night he and Dimitri were in the Monastery infirmary. He was hardly able to breathe on his own, and Dimitri watched over him that night. Now, the positions were switched, and Dimitri was less weak than Sylvain was then. Dimitri was sleeping soundly, and Sylvain had half a mind to drift off then too until there was a full-body jerk from the blonde. His eyes jolting open and quickly sitting up and looking around the room desperately until landing on a familiar face. 

“Sylvain,” came the deep voice. It calmed in a pained exhale but was relieved. He laid back, remembering that he was currently bed-bound for the night. 

“Hey, I’m here. You’re okay.” He scooted the chair closer with a loud squeak and reached for Dimitri’s hand. Dimitri smiled up at him. A soft smile and crinkled eyes looking up at him as if he was the goddess herself. 

“Y-Yeah. I am.” 

Sylvain went to pull his hand away. Dimitri only moved and grabbed back at the open palm. Holding tight at the gaps between his fingers, pulling him closer. It was weak, but Sylvain obliged awkwardly. Closer and closer, Sylvain was out of his chair and on the bed instead. Luckily it was larger than the ones in infirmaries, and he could lay across it without causing any discomfort. He sighs, giving in to the gentle pulls to climb into the bed. Gently, carefully, and opening his arms for Dimitri to drunkenly press closer to him. He could feel the crook of his recently broken nose against his neck. The slow and staggered breathing along his collarbone.

  
  


“If you wanted to share a bed you could’ve just asked,” He teased. Dimitri only shrugged, pulling him closer once more until their sides were pressed together tightly.

“I am so glad to know you’re alright. Feeling you now, Your heartbeat alone is such a relief to hear.”

Something washed over Sylvain at that moment. Dimitri was here. Alive, and mostly sane again. He survived throughout all of this. Would soon become king and lead Fodlan into a peaceful era. No more war beyond this. No more harsh weeks of battles. No more breaking promises for the sake of war. No more clutching embraces in fear they would be the last. 

Dimitri was warm against him. Both of their armor was discarded for something lighter. Something they could move freely in. No longer restricted, save from Dimitri, who was wrapped tightly in bandages that kept his leg from bending. Dimitri stared up at him, fully awake and smiling. Whatever weight that now lied on his shoulders weighed nothing. He reached up to cup Sylvain’s face.

“I love you,” he said with a sober tone. Almost sounding like a prayer. He reached around to the back of his head, lightly gripping at the red hair there. Like the slightest bit of relent will cause Sylvain to pull away. “Goddess I love you. I’m so relieved to be here. Alive. With you.” 

“You could very well be dead for all we know. Welcome to heaven,” he joked. 

Dimitri chuckled, “the pain in my body tells otherwise. And I know you wouldn’t fall. That blade I had Claude's best blacksmith craft with the best materials. It wouldn’t have failed you.”

There was a bit to unpack from that statement. Sylvain knew Dimitri didn’t plan to walk away from Edelgard then. Those words, “Carve a future for us,” was very much his last wish to Sylvain. He could think himself to oblivion as to what all of that meant. But he only huffed a soft chuckle and ran his hands through much too long blonde hair. 

“I love you too Dima. Through a ring would be much more preferred par your next proposal.“

The Prince barked a laugh, and Sylvain felt himself do it before thinking about it. 

He leaned forward, kissing Dimitri’s grinning smile at that moment. His heart was full of emotions. Relief, love, pain, and fear, all of it was in the one kiss alone. And Dimitri returned it gratefully. His other hand reaching out to caress Sylvain’s head and face. 

When they pulled away, Dimitri had the most awestruck look on his face, and then stammered, 

“I will keep that in mind next time. There will be a next time.” 

“There better be, else I will do it myself,” He responded, before kissing him again. 

Mercedes would come back the next morning with Sylvain carefully wrapped around Dimitri and would close the door gently to allow the two more rest. 


	4. In Reflection

Years after the Holy Kingdom of Fargus was United once more, there were always times that Sylvain remembers that the world is not fully healed. Alliances with neighboring continents were still shaky, save for Almyra once King Khalid rose to the throne. And even then, it was only due to the king being Claude himself. His great scheme was finally revealed. 

  
  


But everywhere else was still strained. Years of infighting within their nation made them even harsher on outsiders in the past. But they worked hard for it. Sylvain was nearly close to signing a treaty with Streng. And Dimitri was still juggling the unification of their nation. Despite the paperwork being signed and history books being written, it was hard for the completely different lands to truly feel unified. 

Things that were done in one way in the Alliance were handled drastically differently in the empire. And the kingdom had its own rules that needed to be rewritten. Both centuries-old and new ones that Cornelia had written for her conscience. 

There was plenty of writing rules, arguing morals, and rewriting more rules. But Dimitri had good guidance. Byleth remained in the monastery, but consistent letters for advisement were always there. And Dimitri had a strong group of advisors he could trust. 

That in itself was hard to do. Cornelia’s advisors were in no way to be trusted, so the first thing he and Sylvain found themselves mulling over was who the remaining advisors would be. 

Sylvain remembers mulling over the lists of names with Dimitri one night, what was scratched out, and who was circled. He watched as Dimitri stared at it for a long moment before scratching it out with a stiff line through it. He watched, too stunned at the moment to say anything, and more still as, with the most intricate cursive, wrote ‘King Consort’ beside it. 

( “If you are beside me at most times, I feel it would be wrong to-” Dimitri began to explain but was given a kiss instead. )

  
  
  
  


And now as they all worked together, Dimitri was confident in most of those chosen were previous commanders or students of the monastery. Those who saw the war first hand. Who learned of the complicated history that was rewritten over time. Those who were tedious about their Kingdom’s next steps to uniting it and finding peace beyond borders. 

Sylvain knew Dimitri felt a form of guilt, having his old friends have to deal with such political manners. But they could have easily refused. Some did. Ashe and Ingrid still wished to be knights, and Dedue and Felix took their place voluntarily. 

(Much to Sylvain’s surprise on Felix’s part really, but the man seemed to have changed drastically ever since the announcement of Annett’s and Mercedes’s wedding.)

But even with the wide variety of people working for the greater good of Fodlan, Dimitri still had the heavyweight on his shoulders when it came to the final day in all things. 

He mulled over miles worth of scrolls and paperwork. 

Some nights, like tonight, he would drag Dimitri out of his office late at night. Demanding he come to bed for the sake of his good health. Tonight, it seemed the king was more drained as usual. His permanent limp more jarring than usual, the cold rain outside probably not helping with any discomfort. Sylvain walked at his pace, though pulled at him when he reluctantly tried to return to paperwork. 

  
  


When they finally made it to their quarters, the fire had warmed the entire room. The bed covers were pulled away, and Dimitri seemed to sag in relief as the door closed behind him. It wasn’t his room from a child, nor was it his father’s room. It was a wholly separate one, that he and Sylvain both worked on renovating to make it their own. Adrheadbar and the lance of ruin were mounted above the fireplace, crisscrossed and at rest. Deep red cushions that swallowed you whole, as Sylvain liked them. One was stiffer, for Dimitri’s sake. 

Easy. Here,” he pushed at Dimitris’s chest, allowing the man to sit back on the armchair near the fireplace. Dimitri was struggling with pulling off his boots.

“You needn’t act like I’m some old man,” he chided halfheartedly. 

“Sure, sure,” he shot back playfully, “Says the one going on thirty.” 

“Sylvain, you’re  _ in  _ your thirties!”

Sylvain rightfully ignored him. Anything said from him at this point wouldn’t help him.    
Dimitri huffed in feign annoyance before stretching his leg to allow the other to undo the clasps of the armor behind his knees. Sylvain tugged at the buckle, it was incredibly tight. The metal there becoming slightly rusted from the years of use. While Sylvain hadn’t worn his armor as often as he used to, Dimitri wore the night-black armor often still. In paintings, meetings, even in trips to the towns, and diplomatic visits.

“You don’t need to wear the whole thing you know. Most probably wouldn’t have noticed if you skipped out on the smaller items for something more comfortable..”

“I know. But.. it felt nice,” He started “I wouldn’t say nostalgic but...” 

“You miss it,” Sylvain finished at the hesitation.

“It feels wrong when you say it aloud.”

“Mhm. And it’s not just the armor is it?” 

Dimitri looked away, allowing Sylvain to bend his knee again and do the same for the other leg, despite it not being the one under trauma. Sylvain enjoyed this. He may not be considered a royal knight now, but it felt nice, bowing for Dimitri’s conscience. 

“It’s alright Dima. I think everyone does. Five years then was nearly half of our lives back then. We grew into it. Festered in it.” 

“You seem to justify bloodlust.” 

“No. Not necessarily. But so much death. Killing. It does something to you. Felix and Ingrid have never truly recovered from Glen. I don’t think Ingrid will ever truly move on. And Felix knows that but holds onto her the same way she holds onto him for memory’s sake. We all have our things to go through and still unpack. The fact you acknowledge it is better than most of us.” 

“And what of you?” Dimitri pushed. And Sylvain had half a heart to pull away then. He was open with Dimitri, but it wasn’t easy to be. Not with this kind of stuff.

But his husband’s hand reached down, knee bracers and shin guards now discarded, to gently cup at Sylvain’s jaw with an ungloved hand. Sylvain sank into the touch, arms resting on either side of Dimitri’s hips. His hands were less callused than they used to be. 

“I… Well. I think it’s the magic for me, honestly. I didn’t necessarily get to hang it up like most things. It was taken from me, and I could never recover from it. I felt more and more useless due to it. I’d try to cast spells until I would go lightheaded. There isn’t a need for such strong magic from before. But I can still feel that magic running beneath me. Right there-” Sylvain closed his eyes, visualizing how the magic would course through him before, how it was like holding a drawn bow and releasing with everything he had. 

“And... it’s silly. And was before the war started. But sometimes I like holding the lance of ruin. There’s no use for it. But I’ll pull it from the mount, hold it and I think of my brother. How I was the one to bring him to his knees and the one to slay his beast. And... I don’t know. It’s this wave of some kind of morbid nostalgia for me. I can remember it so clearly if I close my eyes.” 

Even then, closing his eyes, concentrating on Dimitri’s hand in his own holding his cheek. The final moments of his brother and tormentor for years flashing before his eyes as if those were his last moments. 

“It keeps me up at night, and yet I find myself not wanting to forget it.”

Sylvain would at times just lie in bed. Hoping his body would just dip into dreamlessness until sunrise. Turning and comforting Dimitri when his nightmares got the best of him. Shushing himself to sleep while begging Sothis to just let him fall into some form of unconsciousness.

  
  


“It’s been three years since it all ended. I don’t think we will ever be the same as we were before,” Sylvain turned to press a firm kiss at Dimitris’s palm before opening his eyes. And Dimitri looked back, serious but gentle as he pulled Sylvain to his feet, then his own. 

“I don’t think we will ever be the same. But I don’t think that is a bad notion. We know how terrible the world can be. How to avoid such chaos. And the empathy to understand those who have yet to learn... isn’t that something to be proud of?” 

A moment of silence, a comfortable one, but Dimitri hummed in agreement after a moment and allowed his face to be tilted by the gentle hold of Sylvain’s hand on his chin. Lips pressing together chaste but with a statement. 

“I’m going to bed Dima. I’m assuming you’ll stay up for a bit?”

He looked over at the table in front of the window with drawn curtains. Letters addressed to Khalid and Byleth and Lindhart needed to be signed and sealed.

“Just for a while.” 

“Don’t keep me waiting all night. Or fall asleep on that chair. We are much too young for that.” 

Dimitri chuckled, kissing once more. Soft and gentle without much drive to it. Sylvain melted into it anyways. Not planning to sleep until Dimitri crawled under the covers with him, but that was his secret for now. Now, Sylvain’s hand fell from Dimitri’s shoulder to bicep, down to his forearm and wrist, squeezing his hand tightly. 

“Goodnight.” 

“Night,” Dimitri whispered kindly. Watching as sylvain left before turning to the table before him. Luckily, there wasn’t much left to write now. Merely checking over Khalid and Lindhart’s letters, ensuring everything important was written and documented. The one to Byleth was longer, due to their close relationship to keeping the new kingdom unified. Most of the time, the letters were one or two pages long worth of the kingdom unification alone. But with the kingdom finally working as one, and no longer divided by previous borders, it was mostly updates on their neighboring nations. 

But still, Dimitri looked over the letters once, twice, three times over before sealing them with red wax and the kingdom seal. 

He set them aside to send out in the morning, and finally took a moment to sit back and rest. He could faintly hear rustling of blanket in the other room where Sylvain was. It took time for him to settle into a comfortable position at times. 

Restless legs, occasionally strained breathing, and the mental struggle to simply just sleep and not rest. By the time Dimitri came into the room, The redhead had burrowed himself deeply under thick covers and weighted quilts. A tuft of red hair beneath a mound of different fabrics.

Dimitri found his way under the covers and looped an arm around the other, who gave an affronted whine. 

“Cold,” He complained before rolling into the rest of dimitri. He curled around him almost instinctively. One arm around his ribcage and the other tucked between their chests. 

“Sorry,” he said, though it wasn’t fully genuine. Sylvain was warm. Radiating heat from under the multiple blankets. He curled into the heat like a cat. His own arm cradling slyvain’s head and a cold hand pressing against his chest, feeling the scar of thoron that was still there. 

It covered half of Sylvains upper torso, directly in the center and stretching out in thin white lines. It was faded and less risen and red over the years, but was always there. Always a quiet reminder to Dimitri. 

His hand wandered up, feeling the goosebumps left by his light touches before resting over Sylvains neck. Light stubble scratched at his wrist, and the warmth from there radiated into his palm. Slowly, they sank into one another. Into the warmth, and into a restful sleep. 

No dreams, no nightmares or painful memories to haunt them. No worrying about the piling duties for tomorrow, leaving that to their future selves to mull over. 

For now, until the sun rose and their duties could no longer be ignored, it was just them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest work of fiction I have ever publically posted! And WHEW! it was fun but also a handful!  
> Thank you all so much for reading! Any comments and/or Kudos are appreciated!  
> [Check out more of Nessie here!](https://twitter.com/NessieMcCormick)  
> My [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ethdelethe) and some older works of mine [here <3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiraKiaShi/works)

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out more of Nessie here!](https://twitter.com/NessieMcCormick)  
> My [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Ethdelethe) and some older works of mine [here <3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiraKiaShi/works)


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